


The Primadonna

by 11dishwashers



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Eating Disorders, F/F, Gen, Hospitals, Illnesses, Mild Gore, Other, Short Story, disturbing basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: Hyejoo volunteers to visit terminally ill patients during school hours; she's wrong in assuming that they'll all be old.





	The Primadonna

When Hyejoo had been requested on the frontlines, she had made it quite obvious what shades her expectations bubbled up from- the lazy bones caged up by an iron frame, withered skin that cascaded and flopped in a gigantic, depressing puddle where a human once lay, untouched by what she could consider strange mercy; there was the way that sickly beings carried their eyes, as if consciously, dimmed but still in service, frosted corneas reddening by the strand. When her own aunt had laid down to rest on a hospital bed, most of her recollections found themselves caught up on how her hair matted all ugly around her hooked mouth. Hyejoo had never been a shallow girl, but this only lead her to agree with the idea that her brain had defaulted as such- she knew that whoever she saw on the bed, she'd get caught up on the gruesome little details about how the patient ate food to embarrass even pigs, or how their motor controls were horrible, or how their hair was wearing thin until ragged split ends were all that were left.

A ward lady in lilac scrubs escorted her through the hospital, though Hyejoo felt quite able to traverse the curtain maze herself; perhaps her muscle memory would kick in upon viewing the wheely beds where people lay to bleed, out in the dubiously clean air of the hallways; it was among those of her most familiar sights and god wouldn't do with allowing her to repeal such memories with ease. The thing that's unfoundedness surpassed most similar realms was as so- in most hospitals, it seemed to her, the walls were viewed from angles upon angles, thousands of them cemented into the architecture, for in hospitals everyone had a habit of relying on their own experience and their own reckless visions, and their feelings were kept close to chest no matter how wet their faces appeared beneath fluorescent light fixtures. The flowers and art pieces flocked in droves, though were given no consideration to lay upon the sheened wallpaper. From time to time, sobbing could be heard from somewhere in the distance, and when it reared its ugly head the ward lady sparked a throwaway conversation, most commonly in concern about how wonderful it was that Hyejoo had volunteered! If Hyejoo had this golden heart, she'd yet to notice it in the slightest, though did not voice any thoughts in regards to this myth. It was somewhat true that she'd built her reputation on good acts, yet this was perhaps the first one rooting from another's misery.

Volunteering in a terminal illness ward had seemed a stellar idea when rested upon a leaflet. In practice, she'd fretted and turned all night trapped between the bedroom walls, the perfume pink paint darkened with the sky until it could only remind her of human skin, bruised into thick purples- what if she caught a deadly illness, what then? Would she be boxed off just the same? Would she expect visits from girls as malicious and stunning as herself? Would her features be viewed from pity parties held in her sentiments, but never anywhere close to her honour? She'd thrown a tantrum the next morning, had floated downstairs in her uniform as though it was some gown to be worn with any semblance of pride, the _can I get a lift_ spun into a classic, oh how smart of her! _To the hospital, yes_ , came the reply, _and get changed, for christ's sake._

Talking to retirees who kept extensive bluebottle collections between their gums- enticing, to say the least. The coursework would pass by without her input.

"Your buddy's in here," the ward lady said before another ugly birch door, the surface so polished one could be manipulated into burning it for plastic. Throughout the tour, she'd been so kind as to remain quiet when it'd merge with its surroundings, and had paraded her enthusiasm otherwise. Hyejoo hadn't been too annoyed, which was a miracle to her floundering liver. She nodded and grasped the handle, its warmth against her fingertips vaguely disarming. Then, the ward lady went quieter(another miracle, perhaps) and leaned close to say, "she's on some strong medication in the afternoons, so please don't be too taken aback by her spaciness. If she says anything weird, I'm sure she'll only be embarrassed about it later, so it's best not to bring it up."

"Right," said Hyejoo, who had previous notions that all old women said odd things which they meant in only the freudian sense. An image came to mind, another that told of all the things she came to despise in people who had more sense and less room to wedge in forgiveness, leeway- old ladies in cowboy boots ripped to ruin, the brown leather snaggled in the verticals and the horizontals, spearing against each other until the texture rippled like the surface of unrest waters, heads curled and kept on the neck by veins alone, abhorrently gruesome cardigans that dropped down to knee length, concealing bodies with the stubbornness ripped from crepe paper. Whyever had she volunteered in the first place?

When she turned her neck, the ward lady had already scurried off. "Okay," she said to herself, and found something in her that allowed her to open the door, that burned to do so. It delatched softly.

The sight before her was one painted by famous artists, deemed immaculate by a single body alone. She was surprised and yet she was not. She was intrigued and yet she was not. The sound rang out as bristles dragged through long, dolly hair, the muted snaps as strands were ripped from the roots in the midst, and a hand connecting with a handle, and an arm smoothing out from a hand, and a girl posed on the bed- yes, posed, Hyejoo thought; beauty could only bloom so wonderfully in that which reeked as such, how it was embedded in this girl to tilt towards it without her knowledge, that was where the clump of it rested, dormant without a witness- turned three quarters so the sole evidence that her right eye puffed out of its socket was the curl her eyelashes presented before the white plaster wall. She was a figurehead for supernatural, freakish elegance, and withdrawing, Hyejoo found that she was everything Hyejoo had ever attempted to be, this masterpiece of genetics and oil paints sat right there on the hospital bed, as though born from an angel's tailbone.

Hyejoo hadn't meant to feel quite so romantic about it, yet she was, at heart, detached. It was hard not to wander into dangerously passionate territory to describe such a being; the truth was, this girl wasn't beautiful in that alluring, humanoid manner, but rather beautiful as though she was an inanimate object or a mood or a suite or a regal rococo piece or a deity. She wasn't real, almost. As she sat and brushed her hair in scrubs, something menacing glided beneath her features. Hyejoo got the distinct impression that she wasn't looking at a human. Nevertheless, closing the door hadn't seemed like such an appropriate action before, and thus the latch clicked back into its iron block and the hinges plastered with oil sounded, and she stepped once closer, and no more.

The girl, having noticed her moments ago without letting on that anything could quite grab her attention, waited until the hair stopped its senseless jumpship activities upon her brush, the surface of which was a hard linoleum dyed black. When she paused it was only to sigh, and then her eyes went wistful- so it appeared to Hyejoo- and she turned; there they were, breathless, searching each other's fronts for signs of life. In another scenario, Hyejoo would've been embarrassed for herself and for the cause she'd supported- she seemed much too giddy to present a spike on the dialysis machine, as if such things came naturally to her. "Hi," she said.

"It's you," the girl said with another pause, in which she placed the brush on her bedside tray. Her voice was much too high pitched to betray any senses in regards to her presumed regality, and she held herself like a sixteen year old girl, not by immature actions, but by the flow the vapid ones could be extracted from. Disinterest, indifference. Her eyes slid back down to her own plain fingernails. "They warned me about you," she said in a way that seemed true by all facets and lilts. When she wasn't brushing it, or fiddling with it still, her hair deflated into a long, dark brown curtain almost across her entire face, which a human might possess with only slight woe. Still, the visible features were so miraculous that Hyejoo wanted to cry herself to sleep. She knew then that in this world, it would be hard to acquire even a mild satisfaction with her reflection, and thus with life; she would never be quite as stunning, and her arrow had yet to hit even close despite what she'd previously considered to perhaps be 'natural beauty'.

"I didn't think there was anything to be warned about," Hyejoo said, and remained where she stood. There may have been a seat laid out by the bed- possibly even for her- but she feared that if she were to budge a nail, the girl would unhinge her jaw and reveal some sharpened braces shoved down her throat to exert fear, and to decompose flesh long before it reached her intestines. The more time that passed, the more Hyejoo believed with conviction that there was something off about her.

"You tell me," the girl snorted. The blinds were half drawn but on the glass that was set lower, Hyejoo saw pale fingers pass across the sill, then with a start realised it was only a seagull on its flight. "I literally don't know you, and yet here you are, interrupting my morning routine. Come, sit with me."

Hyejoo paused before doing so, though she couldn't help her actions. Again the braces gleamed, and again and again, with the spool shortening between them, and within she found herself quite silly for this unabashed fear, yet it was undeniable in its foundedness, how it fogged more and more with each word pulled from the girl's mouth, those sheered nails rooting around in her throat. Was this what it meant to be intimidated by extreme beauty? Thus, she ventured towards her calling and sat. Her ass was boney enough that the thin layer cushioned upon the chair's steel frame was enough to draw tears. She was a _survivor_ and she could sit here until at least her lunch break, believe in yourself Hyejoo! The world would descend into pathetic tragedy and madness, the terraforms licked at by higher smiting until nothing was left, and still she'd sit ever so stubbornly as though unmoved by the situation, and perhaps- one could never know until it happened- unmoved in all sincerity. The girl turned to her. In that moment, all seemed to be lost, for Hyejoo knew that there was already a topic floundering about between them that would require excavation from the girl's spiky throat. "I'm Hyejoo," she said, so as to drive the knife through the air. When the girl smiled it was incredible varieties of tight lipped, but still the bitchy air had ran off without her fingertips implanted in its back. Her scrubs shifted along her torso as she sat to face Hyejoo, who had the misfortune to notice how big her rack was for the first time, but as promised by her blush, not the last time, lord no.

"Heejin," she said, and paused for too long that the room took it upon itself to fizzle, and Hyejoo felt the phantom oil cracking her apart as the frying pan tossed, and then there was Heejin with her general prettiness(general as a lieutenant and not as an adjective, mind you) with her fingers forked through her hair. Her neck moved in a gesture that brought a crow to mind, by  jagged angles and a slight puff down her jugular. A lorry maneuvered by beyond the window and some petrol fumes were dragged up to them, so thick with smog that Hyejoo brought one sleeve to her nose bridge and prayed that sneezing would be unquestionable as she'd always had quite the embarrassing sneeze, one that had caused her grandmother a household cardiac arrest, wherein she hadn't stilled but rather leaped so high a baton could've passed with confidence below her feet, and her skin went pale enough that her veins were on display- the lilac thatches climbing up her cheeks, crowning about her eyeballs. A fog horn, as her friends had downplayed its loudness. Nevertheless, the fumes passed and Heejin didn't pass out. She laid back against the metal frame and pulled the covers towards herself so they could highlight her spindly little clothespin legs. "I wish they hadn't insisted so hard- _oh Heejin, wouldn't it be lovely to have a friend at your age?_ I thought I was going to get a caroller. You know, those tone deaf ones that sing to terminally ill grannies around the holiday season, so you must see why I was so surprised about your visit! It is April after all, right?"

"I guess so," Hyejoo said, alarmed with the magnitude Heejin chose to spoke in. She herself hadn't said so much throughout her entire schooling experience. The teachers knew her by absence, and were adamant in their efforts at 'luring her out of her shell' for the first year, tried to pose questions that had obvious answers; she dodged them and buried her nose further in her sci fi books, which she had a passing fancy for all those years ago. There was something about the variety within each author's depiction of blue wires and interface that she found amusing, how similar each one was while believing itself a departure from the pavement. The most she'd gotten was puddles in the curb, and the furthest her enjoyment had strayed and soared was with her translated copy of Dune, but it was somehow not enough to detach her feet from Earth fulsome. In any case, her teachers had dismissed her from then onwards and she benefited greatly from her alleged prettiness, flourished in the after school scifi club as something like a poster girl, and made friends with geeks that didn't get enough sunlight. She had never painted herself as someone who would sit beside a classic girl like Heejin, and not through any offensive shades, but rather because she found herself unworthy at this weirdly beautiful girl's calling for a conversation- where was this old woman she'd expected to fumble through small talk with all morning? Why was she here at all?

Heejin smiled with such tact that Hyejoo could only assume her teeth were smothering a laugh, each one pointed into canines. However, she continued in something she perhaps thought was jest, "What do you mean, 'I guess so'? Is there any way to be impartial about a fact's validity?" Her stomach made an odd strangled noise and thus she flattened her hand across it, ashamed.

Hyejoo flourished- in the mildest sense of the word- at her very own withheld mercy, and the power she could make loom with the right phrasing, but instead gave it to Heejin with ignorant forms because it might be her last chance to cast a shadow, and not quite in similar regards as Heejin, who had emanated the impression that she was tapping the glass slot in death's door with a french tip, but rather that it was a blue moon opportunity to be seized when conviction was in one's repertoire. She shifted on her seat and felt within how her bones sloped painfully, and once more threw a gaze at the soft mattress upon the bed.  "Why do you talk like that?"

"I like to keep up appearances. Anyway, if it's April already then I really should start constructing my will," Heejin hummed; a simple threat to put an end to all simple threats uttered without so much as a passing care. She pursed her lips so they looked worse than before and the pink only seeped through at the m line- if she was honest, Hyejoo was drawn to this movement as she was to each and every one Heejin had presented, that lopsided presence within her blood that prevailed in throwing others off guard. Indeed, a weirdo. "the days go so quickly, god. I might even lose it tomorrow. Still- what does it matter to you? I only care about other people when I know, for certain, that they'll cry when I'm gone, because when you're in my shoes, that's really the only way to tell, especially with what some of my friendships devolved into. It's a mess. It very much is. My shrink tells me it's not my fault, but all I can think is that the whole thing wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for my passion, you know? Well- no, you don't know, do you. Not unless..."

"...Unless what?" Hyejoo leaned forward in her chair. "What is it?"

"Here," a moment passed where Hyejoo could pin her life upon the pan out of nothing, yet it struck her at the last minute that Heejin would forever be the sort to take her time with things, and thus said a lot and nothing at all in all manners sloppy, and brushed her hair as if one could pluck pleasure from such languid motions, and let months pass her by unconscious, and her death be welcomed first by a greeting ages ago when whatever had whatevered was given the necessary room to manifest, and in the end she'd hug it in something mistaken for forgiveness- her decay another slow affair, by how she spoke of the hospital experience- weeks and weeks boxed up with horrible food that had the qualities possessed by airline slop, yet was somehow greyer. She lazed to the other side of the bed and lazed as she drew what appeared to be a manuscript from her red backpack, and when it was dropped on Hyejoo's lap even its falling speed seemed prolonged. "I wrote it for my therapist. It's an autobiography, I guess, but maybe more honest and less glamorous. Then again, I've always been the sort who does the exact opposite; all glamour and no truth behind it and all that, and that's why my friends leave easily. Because they realise there's nothing there, after a while- nothing in me. Nothing in my brain except for old bleach, and nothing in my heart. My therapist disagrees but I've always thought she was quite argumentative. And yes, of course I know that you have little interest on reading such a thing- though it _is_ short, only a pamphlet really- but do it for my sanity, please. I know we're strangers but I need someone to remember me real properly, yeah? Even if they remember me as some clingy freak who writes badly. Is that so wrong of me?"

Hyejoo blinked, and somehow the papers had a rapid incline in weight until she could bet on the exact red shade that would be imprinted into her thighs from how they suppressed, beneath the jeans and the rips and their scar tissue, still. She looked at Heejin and saw the face crack as her eyes drew downwards until they were sorrowful. Perhaps she was having that moment mentioned but a second ago, where Heejin's friends realised that the glamour had tainted her face alone, and that whatever was bubbling under would one day break the latches and poison, poison, poison. She looked so downright sad that Hyejoo could only nod to not be plagued with guilt every night going forward. The nightmares would scab over too quickly, yet would never cease their destruction process and the war on her mental state. "I'll read it later," she said, in a voice that didn't sound very much like her own. "And tell you about it tomorrow."

"Okay," Heejin smiled, and for a split second one could believe the ensuing boredom was worth it. Hyejoo had read the first Harry Potter book in a day once; she could read a 'pamphlet' in much less. "Thanks so much, and I rarely mean things but- thank you, that goes only if you do read it. No bullshit. Either the entirety or nothing at all, please don't skim it. I just would hate for anything to go misinterpreted. It's kind of a fucking mess," she said, perhaps a sick perseverance once more, and a cough drew from her insides as she turned to face the window. In the light, her skin paled to terrifying levels of blanch and her complexion was banished until only the skull white bones remained.

  
  


Hyejoo hadn't been gifted with the necessary time one must take to reflect upon such ordeals; in one lengthened moment(seriously, those three hours) she had tended to Heejin's loneliness by the bedsit, the rewarped futon mattress with its yellow label jutted out the seam, and the next she was ringing out on the subway as the condensation skinned along the windows. It wasn't the day for public transport, and the remnants from a lunch rush were quick to agree with this notion- the whining was apparent in each jostle of the carriage, and Hyejoo had been given the chance to awe at the smug college kids selection who were fretting over their livelihood about the humidity, the stench that only street food had the shamelessness to possess now diseased over to their breaths, the stale noodles that browned in the frier and the teriyaki sauce rampant, sweetness alluring to fruit flies. The saving grace was forever that she needn't transfer lines and the walk home was modest from there on out. In summer, the trees were often alight with pink blossoms, and this was at mercy with her enjoyment, to adorn and astonish her peripherals as she scrolled through her music app endlessly. By all means, it had whittled into a day worth sleep deprivement- she turned her earphones up and pulled the pamphlet’s stiff plastic cover away. The noise it made was creepy, in that a breathe could be heard exerting from the page, or quite possibly, this was another episode of skittishness that she was prone to face. The script was neat enough that it wasn't taxing to skim, yet she hadn't the need or want to do so and allowed each sentence and word and paragraph to absorb as though her direct involvement had imprinted even the past.

 

_'By the time you're reading this, I might be sixteen or something. You never know with these pesky shrinks, if they ever bother with their clients at all- I wouldn't know all that well since this is my first one, but it seems like something anyone with employment would do. I mean, I think it's your job to prescribe me and maybe diagnose me, but I don't know what all this ranting will do other than expose my shallowness, maybe. Anyway, I'm fifteen- of course, go figure by that first sentence- and to me, it already feels like normal childhood is a distant memory even though it totally should've just been yesterday, and yet yesterday I was lying in my goddamned cot all day, looking at the ceiling like some maternity ward baby and not whatever sort of monster I am. If you're asking, it's not my fault that I got so unhealthy. You won't believe the big reveal when it happens, when I expose my no-gooder- no, she's not within so much as lending a helping hand- be very patient. I guess I'll start now, and stop this obvious stalling._

_I was doing classical ballet, and I was allegedly on circuit to becoming a prima ballerina, which basically means that I'd be above everyone else in my field, and I felt this was very fitting. Back then- let's say last year, I think that's when I was starting to get recognised by The Thing- I was sort of pudge faced in a way that had yet to affect my dancing. It wasn't fat but it wasn't preferred either; it was like all my facial features were swimming about in the chubbiness and had to be focused on to excavate fully. I was never estranged from the rest of the dance troupe- they seemed to like me and all that, I had these girl friends who I'd kept up with since I was very young, and who had been subsequently revealed to me for their true selves over the course of my life, this is realising that we never had anything in common except for immaturity back in the day, and now we were fucking altar boys and cavemen, as in we didn't mix. Not that I was ever sure who was the altar boy and who was the idiot. It was an even split, to me. Or maybe that just shows how thick headed I was. I was friends with the lot of them- here I'll introduce them as appropriate, my best friend(of sorts) was a month older but she acted like it was way longer, was kind of bitchy and kind of bossy, and her name was Haseul. She'd never possessed half the talent I did yet liked to throw herself about into every role, because she had this undeniable gracefulness to watch, and I'm not talking about skillful kinds but rather her bone structure was so pretty it made me cry blood every night, especially when she started getting all the 'beauty' leads in these grand scale productions we put on. I was talented, and so I was put in villainous roles on more than one occasion, because that required more acting than appearance I guess- still, I was never sure if it was worth the sacrifice of never looking nice ENOUGH to be anywhere but in the shadows. Then there was this preppy girl called Gowon who I liked a lot, even though she was always at arm's length. Most of this was because she was much inferior to the rest of us and because she was too busy having fun to waste her time with worry warts. She's my biggest regret, if I let myself think about it- that I never befriended her even though it was possibly a lifeline. Maybe I would be happier by her influence alone, and she really seemed to have that effect on her friends or whatever, but none of them seemed to like me and all of them seemed ehh jealous. Jealousy! God, how it multiplies! I was friends with another one of them, but she backstabbed me more times than I had the smiles to deal with, this girl being Choi Yerim, the very own posho who had more of an aptitude for horse riding but still gained pleasure from ruining other girls' days by taking even more parts. Hah- I'm getting ahead of myself here._

_Anyway, so this is back three months ago, in September. I'm playing the villain in a production- I'd name if you knew anything about ballet at all- and I've learned quite a bit of what it took to look so evil. We had rehearsals after school, every day except for Wednesdays, and I was the most stubborn girl about showing up. So I made it a point to go along every time even though I was alienated. When I walked in the door, there was always some of them at the water machine looking really pretty, and I was so very spiteful that a part of me was locked up by it- in shackles- I couldn't do anything- nothing- NOTHING- about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOTHING! I was in a constant state of being pudgy and ugly, after all. So when I saw these girls, I reminded myself that I was a ballerina and these were hobbyists and I'd go to the room, to the bar that was always so cold my hands would thaw in withdrawal when pulled away and I'd do some stretches. Irrelevant, but I liked very much when my ham strings were pulled, and spent the most time on this part. A piece of me was already deteriorated at that point. At home, my parents were cruel to each other, using all these cutting words, and at school I was a wallflower. I had nothing else but my ambitions and even more so, my constant crescendo of what others would call 'aspirations' and what I would call 'self inflicted threats'. Haseul came in and made a comment about her legs being more brittle than mine, and that it was harder for her to pull of flexibility because of this, which was a roundabout way of calling me a bit on the fatter side. I felt the weight that my recognition as a dancer was already stomped beneath and my lungs became razors. This honestly happened every time I was in close vicinity with another girl I could even somewhat relate to- I was spiteful and maybe even entitled, I'll admit it so easily it'd make you sigh in frustration if you believed otherwise, like it's a fact of life and not just how I know I am, forever and ever stuck with everyone's seconds, the second spotlight and second act and second favourite and AAAAAAAh I could just SCREAM!!! I don't scream though. I'm writing this at my desk, where there's a big mirror I've tacked a poster of One Direction on top of, that my mam imported from China as a joke present that I don't particularly care for, unless it's covering my reflection._

_So I was extremely fed up with life. You can picture it now, the fame slipping from my future because of things as shallow as my dog face; the sand in another puddle. This was my life. The doom and the cage. I tried to stop eating so much, and would sit in front of the open fridge for hours on end really late at night, when I felt I could get away with the whirr that escaped from its fan, at the food I couldn't eat. But there was an easier way, I'd soon learn. I remember it so well- it was after a showing, and my aunt had just showed up after being discharged from the hospital(a double vasectomy, she's fine now, bless) with a bouquet of purple flowers for me, and a box of chocolates. I thought to myself how distressing it was that someone would do something nice for me. There was this malicious, subconscious part in the act, that told me it was more than I could ever hope for, ever again, all this love and loss reduced to a box of fucking supermarket discount chocolates that I couldn't eat without crying myself to sleep. In rehearsal, someone left a ripped up piece of notebook paper in my canvas bag with a drawing of a pig- no doubt another act of jealousy, because I was forking up all the praise with all the tenacity and threat I had posed against my bones, rather than the flesh I was used to. I broke down and cried and cried and cried until my tear ducts were scritched red. It was a horrible livelihood, and a cruel existence. However, The Thing had recognised me as a saviour to ballet; the impending prima ballerina from Seoul. In the midst of a crying fit, I laid with the covers blocking my desk light from my eyes- this was late, after I'd stared into the fridge and eaten so much frosted vanilla I could puke, upon the realisation that no matter how much weight I'd lose nothing could fix my face- and a voice bloomed in my right ear. Bloomed, yes! It was a heavenly chorus, so close to me that I felt it not as condensation but rather a solid. I want to save you, it said. I want to save you. You're too good to kill yourself now. Let me in, and I'll save you._

_I let it in. It felt like nothing, I tell you, so much so that it could've been a dehydrated fever dream- and yet I awoke in the morning to my clothes in a puddle about my form, the neck line spanning across my collar bones and revealing my dainty new shoulders- I was not a different being, but in allowing The Thing within I was now a new version of me. I leaped from bed and ripped my poster from the vanity mirror, and cried out in fear as the face before me was pooled with the outside light. My eyes were large and beautiful, and my bone structure had been marrowed, carved to perfection- everything about me was divine and perfect, though my teeth quite often grazed my tongue to the point of pain, the canines pointier than ever. Then, long, faded scars down my sides in manners most ignorable, my hourglass figure awakened rib by rib- I was the girl you see now, tucked up in her hospital bed. The Thing had changed me so I could truly shine to my fullest potential. I was the most gorgeous sight I had ever beheld, and at first it scared me half to death, but at those times I was comforted by the romanticised idea of sacrificing all- including general safety- for my craft. I danced and danced and garnered newfound respect and newfound friends. Life went swimmingly. I describe this with haste since it was so short in real life, but for a moment I really believed myself to be the prima._

_And then the thing revolted. Nightmares upon nightmares upon nightmares- every night, I dreamed of falling into blackwaters, being submerged with hands gripped to my boney little, finger-sized ankles, and the teeth grazing me of something I hadn't the capacity or mental stability to consider. And now, I lay dying. Hospitalised for being underweight and suicidal- hah. No one has the heart to hurt my beautiful self, not even me, so it seems. But those nightmares persevere still. I see now what I truly am, what The Thing has truly made of me-'_

And it ended there. Hyejoo, disconcerted beyond all reasonable belief, lurched her head up towards the subway map and found that she was far from home, being shuttled in rapid speed to stations she'd never heard lick nor ill wishes of in even the vastest youth groups. She’d only had a moment to flip the last page, and as she did every molecule on earth revolted at the sight. Enormous, upon the page, so scarlet and withered and saturated, completed with true virtue, closing notes and artistic talent, grotesque in concept, lines colour blocked, flesh colour blocked, the like;  was a drawing so viciously completed that it seemed to shake upon the static sheet, of a great white shark ripped spleen by spleen, a ballet shoe crammed so far into its mouth the perfumed satin was bloodied into rags, framed by oil soaked hospital gowns. The eyes were pin pricks upon their vast sockets and no matter how much Hyejoo willed for the privacy of her breakdown, they still followed her along every jaw shattering fear and scarring, mare inducing revelation.

 

_'The Thing, Or a Self Portrait, Or Perhaps Even a Self Portrait Drawn By The Thing, Who is Now Me- Jeon Heejin'_

**Author's Note:**

> sorry girlssss :( might add a sequel w more explanation, idk tho cos i like to keep what i mean subtle lol,,, u can find me on twitter @11dishwashers-- i love chatting aaa!!


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